Twisted Drabbles
by Twisted Creampuff
Summary: A collection of various drabbles.
1. Leavetaking

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Danny Phantom.

**Leavetaking**

The wind tore at his sight, speeding faster and faster as he fled. If his vision wasn't swimming, he would've been certain that he was past the stage of his eyes tearing. The liquid seeping out from the corners of his gaze seemed somehow denser, more viscous, and possibly more vital; not that it mattered.

He didn't know why he was doing this. It was only a matter of time, really. Until the enemy found him again. Until those he loved were once again forced to suffer the brunt of his failed attempts at heroics.

He was no longer capable of feeling anything; the paranoia, the endless deception had taken its toll. Danny Fenton was accustomed to failure, but not when his ineptitude resulted in him doubting the very purpose of his existence.

He couldn't do this anymore. Not when he had nothing left to give her. Everything she ever had, or ever dreamed of achieving, he had destroyed with a single fell swoop of his inadequacies. He could never hope to attempt to salve the gaping wounds he had left in the souls of those that he cared about.

But he had faith that with time, Samantha Manson would easily be able to pick herself back up, and that her extraordinary strength would cushion the fall of those around her as she rose.

It was all he had to offer. Time, and perhaps the hope that when he left the rubble of the city crumbling in his wake, they would rally their forces sufficiently to prevent him painting the ground red with their blood.


	2. Mirror, mirror

**Mirror, mirror**

She stabbed her. Then she stabbed her again, until she no longer noticed the blood smeared over her hands, nor the intermittent quivering of her lips as she drew shaky, heated breaths, quelling the hysterical urge to laugh. So it _was_ true that one could find solace in the act of mindless repetition.

It was her fault, she thought savagely. It was all _her_ fault, and he wasn't coming back. Her act of weakness had cost Danny his life. It wasn't important that Amity Park lay ruined at their feet. He was gone, and nothing else mattered.

Finally, the great Danny Phantom had fallen. Not to his vast multitude of ghostly enemies, nor to the humans who despised him despite the protection his presence wrought. Instead, his defeat lay in the hands of someone he had regarded with deepest affection, perhaps more.

The kitchen knife abandoned to one side, she stared bitterly at the few remaining shards held forlornly in place. She regarded her own tear streaked visage with contempt, making no effort to remove the shards of glass embedded into her hands.

_Why won't you just disappear?_


	3. Lose Yourself

**Lose Yourself**

Panic was the last thing he could remember before blacking out. Along with the endless pain, coupled with a ceaseless sensation of vertigo as he found himself thrust roughly back into consciousness. It still hurt to breathe.

_What happened?_ Dark brows furrowed as he struggled to recall, surveying his imaginary surroundings as he endeavoured to match names and memories to the faceless images flickering before him.

A battle; there had been a battle of some sort, amidst vivid flashes of green. He had been winning, at least until something had gone wrong. The half memory caused him to tense, unable to dispel the feeling of undulated fear as eyelids fluttered open for the first time in what seemed like an eternity as he slowly reacquainted himself with the gift of sight.

"He's coming to," an unfamiliar voice whispered, emanating unconcealed urgency mingled with relief.

"Thank god you're alright Danny," a second voice joined in; its tone softer, more feminine. Its owner gave his hand an affectionate squeeze as he allowed himself an instant to reorientate himself, flinching from the unexpected pressure on his wrist.

Icy blue eyes flared an ungodly shade of green, as he found himself gripped by unexpected annoyance at their intrusion in his moments of weakness. She had no right to touch him. None of them did.

"Who are you?" he demanded, snatching his hand from her grip, oblivious to the hurt and confusion radiating from her gaze. "What do you want with me?"


	4. Summer Solstice

_Takes place directly after Infinite Realms._

**Summer Solstice**

_Behold, an evil spirit comes to rescue his dark mistress._

Sam scowled, recalling the memory that had been plaguing her all week as she studied the noonday shadows. Was the nature of her and Danny's relationship so transparent, to everyone but Danny himself, his deranged arch nemesis included?

The summer sun's persistent brightness doing little to quell her foul mood; the cheery rays of light seemed determined to surround her, no matter which secluded corner of the park to which she chose to retreat, dragging a reluctant Danny along with her.

Beside her, said boy yawned, stretching languidly as he enjoyed the sunshine. Sam had to admit; having a shirtless Danny next to her to ogle made the summer heat almost bearable. No matter how much she adored alabaster skin on men, perhaps Danny _did_ suit a tan.

In rare moments like these, Sam could almost forget just how extraordinary her would be boyfriend truly was, during the few, treasured instances when he was free from the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

"Is everything alright?" Danny queried, rolling over to face her when he noted the look of annoyance that flashed across her face.

"Yeah," Sam grudgingly replied. "I was just thinking about what Vlad said when we chased him into the sixteen hundreds."

"He said a lot of things," the boy grinned, his expression wry. "Care to be more specific?"

"It's not important," the Goth flushed. "Although we probably reinforced in the villagers' minds more than anything else that witches exist."

"You think too much," Danny shrugged, fighting back a yawn as he staggered to his feet. "I'm going to get something to help us cool down. What would you like?"

"Strawberry soy ice cream," Sam replied, favouring Danny with a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"But of course," the halfa grinned, an expression of mischief crossing his features. "After all, I _am_ the servant to your every whim, oh dark mistress."

"That isn't funny," Sam warned, despite her cheeks flushing with colour. How had he managed to read her so easily?

"And just for the record," Danny added, already heading towards the ice cream stand in his endeavour to avoid bodily harm as Sam felt her blush intensify. "I think you'd make a hot witch."


	5. Samhain

_Scene cut from __**Anathema's Abode**__, with good reason. Now it incorporates Dark Danny. And you thought the fluff was here to stay._

**Samhain**

The Fright Knight felt his essence stir, as he materialized in the familiarity of his castle. Finally, after ten long years of waiting, he was finally free from the confines to which the insolent ghost child had bound him.

Now, all that remained was to dispose of the blithe fool who had released him.

"Who are you?" the spirit of Halloween demanded roughly, facing his liberator.

"Why, Fright Knight," the trespasser drawled, his long, forked tongue uncoiling as it left the confines of his fanged jaws, tasting the air. "I cannot believe that you've forgotten me so easily."

The ghost king's servant froze, discountenance evident as he surveyed the once familiar insignia on the man's chest. What had happened in the past ten years to corrupt the ghost boy so far past recognition?

"You are an enemy of Pariah Dark," he said stiffly. Nightmare whinnied with unease as the Fright Knight placed a hand on her neck to placate the warhorse.

"Pariah Dark?" the newcomer repeated, his voice soft, mocking. "The ghost king has nothing on me. Soon, he too will be disposed of. _Bow to me_," Phantom demanded with a serpentine hiss.

"Never," the Fright Knight growled, tightening his grip on his steed's reigns as he prepared himself for the bloody confrontation that he knew would follow.

It was no wonder that the ghost had initially been incapable of identifying the man before him as the boy he had once been. His spectral signature had been distorted so severely from their last encounter, that what remained of the Phantom's former soul had been wrenched out of shape.

Phantom was upon him before he knew it, the velocity of his blows unseating him from his mount's saddle. To the ghost's astonishment, the former half ghost ignored him, turning his attention towards the spectral warhorse.

The Fright Knight recoiled, surveying with horror as the _thing_ that had once been Phantom began to devour Nightmare. The monster's throat distended as he gorged himself with the spectral energy radiated from the dying beast, reminiscent of a vast snake swallowing its prey whole as he claimed the destrier's abilities as his own.

Laughing dementedly, he advanced on the spirit of Halloween, self satisfaction evident.

"Do you wish me destroyed?" the Fright Knight questioned, resignation evident despite the bitterness in his voice.

"No," Phantom smirked. "But you serve a new master now."


	6. Vitae

**Vitae**

He was dead.

It was all rather anticlimactic, really. His life had failed to flash before his eyes, there had been no heart stopping dramatic finale. And now, all that remained for him was death, as an unacknowledged martyr to his cause. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, pleasantly surprised to find that the taste of blood had deserted him.

"So I guess this is it," he voiced, bitterness evident. Suddenly, he longed for the excruciating pain to return, to feel his heart beating, no matter how faintly, as he struggled to prevent his consciousness's inevitable escape. _Anything_ that testified to the fact that he was at the very least, half alive would suffice.

"I'm sorry," Clockwork informed, genuine regret flickering across his ever changing features. "But this time, the very remnants of your soul are beyond salvaging. Even I cannot reverse the effects of time when your murderer is capable of existing outside it."

"It's okay," Danny shrugged. "We both knew that this would happen eventually. It just sucks that it had to happen so soon."

"Do you have any regrets?" the ancient ghost questioned, as they both watched the dead boy's essence dissipate into nothingness.

"That depends," the ghost hunter admitted. "Before I go, will you answer me one last question?"

"Anything, Danny," Clockwork replied, his expression softening.

"In my life-" he faltered. "And my death, did I make a difference?"

"Yes," the master of Time smiled. "More than you could imagine, Danny."

"Oh, right then," the dead ghost struggled to form a contented grin with his lips, failing miserably as he finally allowed himself to fade out of sixteen tortured years of existence.


	7. Skin

**Skin**

It had taken days of searching, as she and Tucker trawled through the remains of what had once been Fenton Works. She had refused to believe it. Not until she saw his dead body with her own eyes.

The authorities had long since given up scouring the rubble for survivors. But they didn't know Danny like Sam did. After all, being half ghost meant that he was just that slight bit harder to kill.

Now, with Danny's abused and broken form sprawled before her, Sam was certain that her own life was at end. At least, she thought it was him. Recognition was always difficult when the body of what had once been your crush lacked all of his skin, save the blistered, almost bubble wrap like remains that had survived the heat of the blast.

As the tears streamed down her face, she lowered her lips to meet his, violently shrugging of the comforting hand Tucker had placed on her shoulder. Her tongue delved into the cold interior of his lifeless mouth, grief so strong that she barely noticed the stench of rot, nor the taste of death on her tongue through the congealed blood. She really should've done this while he was alive.


	8. Inconveniences

There's a strong possibility that this scene will join a chapter of **In Pursuit of Redemption**, when I finally get around to writing it properly.

**Inconveniences**

"No," Vlad Masters scowled darkly, resisting the urge to hang up on the bubbling idiot on the other end of the line as the halfa ignored his sputtered apologies. "Absolutely not. Your superior knows that I am a client that does not tolerate failure."

Vlad hated inconveniences. Especially those that involved him leaving the comforts of his castle in Wisconsin in favour of the inferiority of foreign hotels that he was forced to dwell in as he sought to secure the item that he desired. And the _favelas_. The half ghost barely contained a shudder of revulsion. Why the wealthy locals had yet to purge their city of such eyesores and the vermin that they accumulated was beyond him.

"I refuse to accept this. Tell Mister Ferreira that not a cent will be wired to his account until the package is delivered to me in immaculate condition, as per my previous instructions," the billionaire elucidated smoothly, his tone signaling the end of negotiations. His sleek silver phone was snapped shut, as Vlad turned his attention to marginally more pressing matters at hand.

The slum rat had been tailing him for two days, now, the half ghost noted dully, as he made his way through the outskirts of Rio on foot, ever since Vlad had been forced to drive past the favela in which he dwelt. Rocinha; the largest of the Brazillian slums. The billionaire blanched at the memory. The poverty of the less fortunate disgusted him.

Vlad really hated inconveniences, especially when his stalker was armed, with a rusty knife that he thought that he was keeping hidden out of view. To the casual observer, perhaps. It was unfortunate for said slum rat that Vlad was anything but the casual observer. The man himself was hardly a threat, but to remove him would involve unwanted effort on the halfa's part.

In a way, the billionaire could hardly blame him. The Brazilian was without shoes, clad in a threadbare shirt that made Vlad turn his nose up in disgust, and raggedy shorts that had definitely seem better days. By refusing to compromise his dressing, Vlad had made himself a target.

Oh, he was well aware that he reeked of money and power. He reveled in it. His shoes themselves probably cost more than it had to build the street urchin's entire favela. At least the slum rat had initiative. The advantages of thievery was something that Vlad could well appreciate, despite the differences in their circumstances.

Nevertheless, the half ghost grew tired of this game of cat and mouse. He rounded the corner, seemingly trapping himself as he found himself faced with the blank red brick of a dead end as his stalker gave chase. Let the vermin think that he had won.

"You," his assailant demanded in halting English, gesturing roughly towards the billionaire's wrist as he brandished his weapon threateningly. "Give me your Rolex."

"Actually," the billionaire drawled, quirking an eyebrow as the lazy blue of his eyes flared a deathly red, in all probability the last colour that the petty thief would ever see in his life. "It's a Patek Philippe."


	9. He Scares Me In A Good Way

Excerpt taken from **_Contravene_**, a multichaptered DxS romance fic on which the fabulous _Chaos Dragon_ and I are currently working on.

**He Scares Me In A Good Way**

"I love this place," Sam gushed, a sparkle of genuine contentment in her eyes for the first time since she and Danny had been reacquainted as they languidly walked the streets of Camden Town. "No one gives a damn what you dress like."

"Yeah," Danny grinned. "It's awesome. Aren't you glad that you decided to take me up on my offer? I told you that you'd like it here," the pair took a turn down the main street, and Sam felt her insides flutter with joy as she felt his fingers furl lightly around hers, until particular sign caught her attention.

"Darkside, huh?" the Goth voiced out loud, stopping by the clothing store's display window. "I've heard about this place. Apparently it's amazing. And not only that," she added, a broad grin crossing her features. "They ship to America."

"Oh, no," Danny balked, turning swiftly back the way they came, beckoning for Sam to follow with a gentle tug to her wrist. "We're not going in there. Let's go look at that make up of yours again."

"What's wrong?" Sam queried as she stopped in her tracks, startled by his haste.

"I might have brought you to Camden, home to all things creepy, but this is taking things too far," the half ghost stuttered, clearly uncomfortable.

"What's wrong with this shop?" Sam protested. "You've let me go into all the others."

Danny muttered something intelligible, scuffing the toe of his green Converses against the pavement in clear agitation.

"Is there something bothering you?" Sam queried tentatively, silently terrified that Danny would abruptly once again erect the emotional barrier against her that she had worked so hard to break down for the past painstaking weeks.

"It's nothing," the halfa replied. "I just don't want you going in there."

""I don't see why I shouldn't," she paused, her lilac eyes narrowing as the revelation dawned on her, a stab of hurt following immediately after. "Unless there's something you're not telling me. You promised that there'd be no more secrets between us, Danny."

"I meant it," he replied, scratching the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. "No more secrets. Look, if it really means that much to you, then I'll go in with you."

"Thanks," Sam demurred, allowing a slight smile to grace her features as she entered the alternative clothing shop, Danny tailing reluctantly in her wake.

Its interior did not fail to impress. The Goth was certain that she was in heaven (or as close as she cared to be, at any rate) as her gaze fell upon the racks and racks of apparel to choose from. Not to mention the unnumbered rows of shoes, from burnished steel stilettos to dark laced knee high boots. Danny shook his head in amusement as he observed her, the expression on her face akin to that of a child in a candy store as Sam practically bounded towards the nearest display of female clothing with unconcealed excitement.

"Can I help you, Miss?" a deep voice queried.

"Not just yet," the Goth quipped dismissively as she trawled her way through the hangers of clothing, not bothering to meet the shop assistant's gaze. At the moment, she had far more important matters to attend to. Such as whether the bondage corset before her should be purchased in a deep purple satin, or a luxurious black velvet.

"How do you convert between British and American sizes?" Sam questioned, holding a corset against her lithe form.

"I don't know," Danny raised his hands in surrender. "I've never really thought about it. If it fits, I buy it."

"How did you get into Cambridge again?" she shook her head, exasperation evident.

"I don't see what clothing sizes has to do with academia in the slightest," he shrugged nonchalantly in reply.

_Academia._ For some reason, his usage of the word stung. Despite the fact that she had finally convinced the blue eyed man to drop his faux English accent around her, vestiges of the deception remained, even if they were unconscious on Danny's part. No matter how hard she tried, a painful reminder was always present of his becoming something that he was not.

"Oh, never mind," she sighed, pushing raven tresses out of her face. "I'll just ask the shop assistant."

"Actually-" Danny began, his abrupt change in attitude falling on deaf ears as the Goth interrupted him.

"Excuse me," Sam called out, turning to regard the shop assistant for the first time since entering the building.

"Sorry to bother you, but do you have this in an American size four? I'm not entirely sure how to work the British- _oh,_" the Goth stopped short, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as she faced him.

He wasn't Danny, but that sure as hell didn't stop him being beyond a shred of doubt the most attractive Goth, hell, possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen in her entire life. He was tall, roughly Danny's height, but slightly heavier built, although that could simply because he was a couple of years older.

Sam couldn't help but appreciate the tasteful curves of red and black liquid eyeliner that adorned eyes so dark that she couldn't see his irises, making a mental note to attempt it on herself back home. A single silver ring studded his left eyebrow, and the Goth found herself fixated by the simple, yet perfect curvature of a second ring complimenting the corner of his pale lips. She noticed that he also had his nipple pierced, beneath a ripped fishnet top that left little of his muscled alabaster torso to the imagination, her blush intensifying.

"Is there a problem, Miss?" the man frowned, unsettled by her unabashed gaping, eliciting a deep growl from the back of Danny's throat as he observed her reaction towards him.

"No," Danny glared, in a failed attempt to regain his composure. "But we're leaving," he asserted firmly, placing a possessive hand on Sam's waist. "_Now._"

"You're from America, then?" the shop assistant drawled, his pierced lips quirking into a grin as Sam was dragged out of the clothing store by a seething Danny. "That's fit."

**Author's Notes**: _And yes, Darkside man does actually exist_.


	10. Paper

A rather _Chaos Dragon_-esque piece, seeing as to the fact that she browbeated me into coauthoring it with her. I am back for good, at least for the next year and a half without school. I just so happen to be playing catch-up at the moment.

**Paper**

This is the man, her conscience mocked. This is the man that you fell in love with. The man that you've spent half your life waiting for, for all the good that it's done you. The plain blue paper was almost innocent as she stared at it in her hand. As good an idea as it had been Sam was regretting her need to see him, the need to just be near him, all of it suddenly undone by the plain little paper.

And he had made no attempt to hide it from her sight. Whether that was a small mercy in itself, Sam had yet to decide. He couldn't have been ignorant as to the way that she felt about him. He simply couldn't. Not from the heated glances he knew that she was stealing in his direction. The pathetic way her fingers skimmed his skin whenever they made contact, in needful, lingering touches, nor the multitude of awkward conversations between them when she had had no choice but to let her voice trail off, for fear of uttering something truly incriminating.

No. Danny had to be aware. He had simply made no attempt to hide the news from her. Sam only wished that he had chosen a gentler form of rebuke.

To think, she'd nearly thought he might have understood. That he might have returned what she gave. She shook her head, eyes closing as her fingers clenched on the certificate before Sam dropped it as though it had burned her. She wanted nothing more than to be gone from there, far away from the small dorm room where she waited for him to return.

The very least he could've done was to invite her to the wedding. He owed her that much, at least. After all they had been through together, even if he refused to regard it as anything more than platonic. Did Tucker know, she wondered dully to herself, and for an instant, shame prickled at her insides as she contemplated the possibilities. Of course Tucker knew. Why else would he have encouraged her to take this trip down to see Danny? They had wanted her to find out this way, the two of them. It had all been carefully prearranged so the coward known as Daniel Fenton would not have to face her himself with the news.

If anyone had been around to see her cry, she might have tried to stop it. As it was she could barely believe it, the rest of her seemed to be so numb. She wasn't crying, not really, because Sam Manson didn't cry. Sometimes she got teary eyed, but never did she cry. Excepting that she couldn't deny the fact that her face was wet, her eyes were starting to ache as she held the worst of it back, that she was really, truly crying.

Which made it the worst possible moment for Danny to decide to make an entrance.

"S-Sam?" he stuttered, eyes widening, countenance visibly overcome by surprise by her very presence in his dorm, when she was supposed to be miles away at the other side of the country, the halfa's astonishment magnifying tenfold when he realised that Sam was _crying_. "What are you doing here?" the half ghost questioned, his query sounding rougher than expected as it left his lips before he realised that he was bristling, a protective, possessive rage overcoming him. God help the bastard that had made her cry.

"Care explaining to me what _this_ is?" she demanded, her voice taking on a shrill, almost hysterical quality.

It was then that Danny finally noticed the crumpled blue sheet, held in Sam's hand with a vice like grip, inwardly swearing as his very blood froze in his veins. "It's not what you think," he pleaded. "I can explain."

_It's not what you think._ Her face fell as she understood he was only planning to give her a by wrote excuse, just like any other man with half a brain would have. "You don't have to explain anything, Danny," she said, not knowing how much her voice told him. "Least of all to me."

She dropped the marriage certificate, delicate blue fluttering a bit as it hit the desk, then stooped to grab up her duffel. If she hurried she might be able to make a return flight without having to wait. God knows she had the money to do it. This once, Sam wasn't going to begrudge herself the use of it. She swallowed once before glancing up at his blue eyes, then away, afraid of what she might see.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come," she told him. She pushed past before he could stop her, only pausing for a moment to whisper a broken, "Congratulations," before bolting for the stairwell.

"No," he growled, upon her in an instance, grabbing her wrist with reflexes honed by a thousand deadly encounters. She had almost forgotten what he was capable of. "Don't go. I'm not finished with you yet."

"But I am," she replied coldly, head held high in an almost regal fashion as she admonished him. "Unless you'd care to explain to me who the hell Henrietta Rice is, because you've somehow failed to mention her to me once."

"Sammy," his voice was meek, pleading, all hot blood leaving him. "Henrietta Rice doesn't exist. It's Dani. She was sick of running. She wanted a real life, and this was the only way I knew how to give it to her. I owed her that much, at least."

_He's not married. _Sam's head was spinning in a whirlwind of emotions, profound relief intermingled with annoyance and anger at herself for assuming the worst of Danny.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she finally managed, reproach evident in her tone, her gaze unwillingly wandering to the cursed certificate lying abandoned on the floor, still unable to meet his blue eyes.

"I was going to tell you the next time I saw you," the halfa choked a laugh. "I just wasn't expecting it to be right now."

"I'm sorry," she apologised, fighting to keep herself from flushing with shame. "It was wrong of me to assume. You're right. This is the least of what Dani deserves. I was being stupid and childish."

"Apology accepted," Danny grinned broadly, the first genuine smile that Sam had seen from him since their reunion. "And for the record," the halfa laughed. "I probably would've freaked out more than you did just now if I found out that _you_ were married without my knowledge."

"I've missed you so much," she confessed, drawing the dark haired man into a tight embrace, his scent making her feel safe and at home for the first time in months. "I had to come and see you."

"I've missed you too," he murmured, stroking her hair. Abruptly he pulled back, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Now, if it isn't too much of an affliction on your morals, would you accompany this married man to dinner?"


	11. Nails

Prompt supplied by _Chaos Dragon_, as usual, really.

**Nails**

"You're up early," Sam commented dryly, looking up at the man perched precariously upon the tree in their back yard. "I would've thought that you'd want a lie in, after last night."

"Not that early," Danny pointed out, his voice barely audible through the periodic banging as he hammered nails into the soft wood. "And it was just a couple of scratches, comparatively. We both know I've been through a lot worse."

"Don't work yourself too hard," she admonished softly, making no effort to hide her lingering concern.

"You're the one always up late, working. Don't think that I don't know about your all nighters," the dark haired man favoured her with a significant look.

"Don't worry about me," Sam stifled a yawn, wrapping her warm shawl tighter about herself as she sought refuge from the cold morning air. "I'm proud of what you do, Danny. And someone has to support this us through conventional means. It can't be helped that ghost hunting doesn't exactly pay the bills."

"I love you," he stated abruptly. After fifteen years of marriage, those three words had yet to lose their weight, and Danny doubted that they ever would. For him, anyway.

"I love you too," she responded in turn as she blew him a kiss, smiling. "At any rate, what inspired this endeavour at such an ungodly hour?"

"I figured that I'd might as well get started," Danny shrugged, looking down to face her. "This treehouse isn't going to build itself before the summer."

"It's six thirty," she chided halfheartedly as he returned to his work, making no effort to hide her amusement. "You'll wake the neighbours."

"Well," the father of her children grinned. "They should've thought about that before moving in next door to the Fentons."


	12. Coconut

For the record, I blame **chaos dragon **for providing someone English with the prompt: _coconut_.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Coconut**

_"The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?" _

_"Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?"_

_"Not at all. They could be carried."_

Sam chuckled at the look of utter bemusement on her fiancé's face as the scene from Monty Python's The Holy Grail unfolded before them. She had expected that it would have been too much to ask for Danny to share her taste in obscure British comedy. However, taking into account the fact that she knew that the dark haired man would gladly die for her if all she did was ask, Sam supposed that she could forgive him this one small thing.

"Are you absolutely sure," Danny raised an eyebrow, regarding her in disbelief. "That you want to spend our honeymoon amongst the madmen that created the likes of this?"

"Oh, absolutely love," the raven haired woman grinned in reply, lavender eyes twinkling. "What's wrong with London? Paris is just so overdone."

_"What? A swallow carrying a coconut?"_

_"It could grip it by the husk!"_

_"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut."_

"It's not that I don't see the humour in this," Danny stated slowly. He chose his words carefully, unable to ignore the incredulity of the situation. He was a grown man who had spent the past thirteen years of his life hunting ghosts, witnessed unspeakable horrors no human should ever have to endure, whose name had become synonymous with fear in the hearts of his enemies. And yet, here he was, threading on eggshells for fear of incurring the wrath of the petite, yet occasionally terrifying love of his life.

"But?" Sam prompted, raising a slim eyebrow to meet his gaze, visibly amused by his cautiousness, lest he offend her.

"It's just so... random," he faltered, finishing lamely as she snuggled contentedly against him in the bed that they shared.

"But that's the genius of it," her shoulders shook with mirth as she tangled her legs with his, almost lazily.

"I guess," Danny replied, still skeptical, as the ridiculousness of the scene intensified.

_"But then of course a-- African swallows are non-migratory."_

_"Oh, yeah."_

_"So, they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway."_

_"Wait a minute! Supposing two swallows carried it together?"_

"You don't _have _to like it," she pointed out. "I didn't agree to marry you just so that you would bend over backwards to my every whim. You _are_ allowed to have a difference in opinion, you know," Sam wrinkled her nose. "Sometimes."

"In which case," the half ghost replied amiably, abruptly scooping her off the bed and into his arms as he flung her over his shoulder in an almost primitive gesture.

"What are you doing?" she gasped out, in between her laughter and struggling to free herself from his strong grasp, her small fists pounding hard against his broad, muscled back.

"Isn't it obvious?" the blue eyed man smirked, refusing to relinquish his grip on her. "Seeing if you weigh as much as a duck."


	13. Surprises

R&R piece. Half the credit goes to _chaos dragon_:D

**Surprises**

Valerie Gray didn't like surprises. Between ghost fighting, and having to work two jobs to support her and her dad, the last thing she needed was a horrible, inconvenient surprise to sever her already fraying connection to sanity. Her life was already too chaotic to afford for change or accommodation. And at the rate that she was going, it didn't look as though any college would be willing to take her. The ghost hunter hated it. Especially when she knew that she was capable of so much more, when she knew that she was being hindered by no more than her own beliefs and desires.

Valerie Gray especially didn't like surprises when it included one Danny Phantom.

She'd known for years how much Sam Manson and Tucker Foley supported and even, to an extent, helped him. No matter how often she tried to convince them otherwise it seemed like they would always turn a blind eye to the ghost and his ways, the destruction and damage he inflicted across Amity from one end to the other. It was only a miracle that no one had been killed yet. But, Valerie's eyes narrowed as she considered which weapon to use, Phantom's miracle was over. This was the last straw.

Not a hundred yards away on the edge of a roof Sam Manson was being pressed to the concrete by Danny Phantom as he kissed her with bruising force.

After all, this was not an opportunity that came around very often. Phantom was in range and vulnerable, preoccupied with glutting himself on Sam's lips, her skin, the pale column of her neck. Valerie fought the urge to vomit as the bile rose in her throat. The _sick bastard._

Sam had to be overshadowed. There was no other explanation for this. This was why Sam and Tucker always seemed to side with Phantom, despite his misdeeds. For all she knew, her friends had spent the past three years of their lives fighting the ghost's possession while Phantom used them as a means to his own ends. But _this_; this was taking things too far.

He was practically on top of the girl, and Sam was safe from falling with the way he had her laid down against the concrete. It would be safe to open fire, and it would be her pleasure. Without another thought or any hesitation Valerie lifted her wrist, letting the three energy cubes that laid compact against her arm rise up and charge as she sighted straight into Phantom's back. If Sam were overshadowed, this would be the surest way of ending it.

The energy hummed along the skin of her arm and Valerie smiled behind her mask as she let the shot go, streaking a violent pink path to Phantom's unprotected back. It hit, sending the ghost arching forward with a scream, and then he slipped from Sam's grasp to fall leaving the girl covered in bright red blood.

Valerie gritted her teeth as she kicked the back of her sled and darted down, determined to kill the ghost that had hurt her friend. As much blood as there had been—oh, she didn't even want to think of what he had done to Sam.

The last thing she had ever expected, was Sam's shriek of hysteria as she approached, accusing lavender eyes shining with tears as the Goth leaped from the rooftops, throwing herself at Valerie as though to throw her off her sky board, almost as though she was seeking _revenge_ from the Red Hunter's protection.

"You," Sam screamed as the ghost hunter sought to restrain her, relieved that her friend hadn't fallen to her death. "_How could you?"_

"Phantom's dead, Sam," Valerie managed out, as she lowered the lavender eyed girl to safety on the rooftops, fear for her friend creeping into every fibre of her being. She shouldn't still be acting this way, not when her captor had already been destroyed. "Why are you still being overshadowed?"

"Overshadowed," Sam repeated bitterly, as she collapsed to her knees. "Is that what you thought, _Valerie_?"

The ghost hunter's eyes widened in shock at Sam's knowledge of her identity. "How did you-"

It wasn't until then that Valerie realised that the blood covering her friend wasn't her own. Despite the fact that Sam's form had crumpled helplessly as she kneeled next to Phantom, her skin was unmarked, and far too perfect for her to be the donor of even a drop of the huge puddles of blood before them.

Valerie couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed it before, the way the puddles of deep red fluoresced spectral green, in a slowing, almost hypnotic pulse, each flicker of the ghostly ectoplasm swirled in the vital haemoglobin weaker than the last. She had never seen spilled blood behave this way before, whether human or ghostly.

"Look at him," Sam demanded grievously. "_Now_ do you realise what you've done?"

The ghost hunter lowered her gaze to regard her target for the first time, as swift, deadly realisation assaulted her. She had been wrong to assume that the blackness of Phantom's normally white hair was a result of a combination of it being drenched in Sam's blood, and the darkness of the night. In fact, she had been wrong to assume _anything_ at all.

For between the two women, broken and wholly human, lay one Danny Fenton.


	14. Stumped

_This was meant to be R&R. Then Chaos Dragon thought it would be funny to abandon me after round one. Credit of the title, however, goes to her._

**Stumped**

If there was one advantage to being knocked unconscious time and time again, it was that experience had allowed Danny some measure of control preventing himself from reverting back to human. _Rational thoughts_, Danny told himself, as the blackness that surrounded him gained some measure of focus, _that's a good sign_.

He sensed the presence of a small figure hovering anxiously over his form, more out of instinct and familiarity than a true function of the senses as his body began the all too familiar process of regaining conciousness.

"Danny?" Sam's voice was gentle, despite being fraught with fear. "Can you hear me?"

He groaned in reply, struggling to form words with his mouth. Speaking really shouldn't be this difficult. Where was he? Danny's brow would have furrowed, except he couldn't quite bring the muscles in his forehead to work with him. What had happend? How long had he been out cold?

His abrupt recall doused the last vestiges of langour from his being.

"Vlad," he croaked, forcing his eyelids open. "Where's that son of a bitch?"

"Gone," she replied softly. "He was so sure that he'd gotten you," she scrubbed a stray tear from her cheek. "But I knew better, she continued, striving to keep her voice light. "I knew that you had to come back for me."

"Did he touch you, Sam?" he demanded fiercely, fighting to sit up as she struggled to stop him.

"You're in no position to get worked up, much less move," the Goth protested. "You're in shock from bloodloss."

"I'm fine," he grunted irritably.

Sam's frantic warnings were ignored as the halfa heaved himself upright through sheer force of willpower. He would be the first to admit that his limbs weren't working half as well as he could've hoped, but Sam had to be overreacting. After all, how injured could he possibly be? He wasn't even in any pain.

The sight to which he sat up to froze the very blood in his veins.

"Sammy?" a foreign note of fear and hysteria entered his voice as he questioned his girlfriend, "where're my legs?"


End file.
